


Fly me to the moon

by Itzmiles



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Illnesses, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, POV Multiple, Problems, References to Depression, Thought Projection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itzmiles/pseuds/Itzmiles
Summary: ━Georgenotfound and Dreamwastaken from MCYT.❥Their real names will be used.❥Contains explicit scenes of pain and injury,also with implied vulgar language,discretion is advised.❥This is an orginal Au,everything is fictional.━❝Even if your hope is broken,and you see but the shadow of what you were,I am here,not to let you fall.❞❥ George has a disease,and he is slowly losing the hope to get better,living through the pain,but,it's not that bad,he could find his medicine in that blonde guy.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 2





	1. 𝗟𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀

Brighton,January 5th.

[...] Thoughts.

  
I've been here, for a week now, it's not something I wanted, or provoked, it just happened, damn it.  
In that span of time, seeing the white polished tile walls, listening to the sound of the clock hands and the voices, simply became a symphony that drove you to total insanity.  
The agony would not end soon,vague memories come to my mind,one day,I was at home,and the next,I woke up on this hospital gurney.  
Who is really there,everyone can say words of encouragement,from the other side of the screen,I couldn't say it,but I feel it untrue,not even think of them visiting you once,they notice how miserable you look,and then in a pathetic attempt,they can only barely and measured word.  
I did not allow my parents to come to see me,I am not indolent,yet even against my wishes,they have not walked through that door.  
I wish I was somewhere else now,in the arms of a person,who lives hundreds of miles away from me,our relationship is something unexplainable,but in the end,he is the only one who is really there for me.  
I don't express my feelings,I don't do too well in that aspect.  
Currently, my only company is my tech devices aka my phone and my laptop, it seems like a vicious circle, indeed it is.  
Since I have been interned in this place,I have been talking daily in a considerable hourly intensity with the aforementioned,he makes me feel better,in some sense.

[...]I wish I could see you,touch your face,hear your laugh mingled with my own.

My name is George,George Davidson,I suffer from Guillain-Barré syndrome,a strange condition that causes your immune system to abnormally affect the nerves in your joints and muscles,basically,you suffer from paralysis,you can't move.


	2. 𝗛𝗶𝗺

Brighton, January 8th.

[...]Thoughts

  
I wake up, always when I open my eyes, the first thing I can gaze is the ceiling, just as pale as the other infrastructure. How was it in my own room?, I don't remember anymore.  
It is one of those occasions when you are already so used to a space, to an environment, so ingrained in itself that you do not stop to observe.  
For the last two days or so, I haven't talked to him much, he hasn't been online much lately, even if I try, he won't tell me why.  
I have other friends,who would probably be worried about me too,but I have no idea,I feel trapped on a desert island.  
Now comes the most boring part,the doctor appointed to me,comes to see me,asks me the typical routine questions.

[...]—"How are you feeling?, George." 

Fuck, how do you think.  
I don't like to think about the food they provide in this place, I can confirm the most well-known hospital cliché, it tastes bad what they serve to you.  
Now this is my life, reduced, without ever imagining something like this, I can't get out.

[...] In the emptiness, I always imagine how you would come to my rescue.

Sitting, without much to do really, watching the plane cross the sky, you even feel tiny in the clouds, although the color of the sky makes you think that anything is possible.  
Although it seemed like an eternity, in a few minutes it would reach its destination, so the nerves increased, the palpitations were heard.  
The air vehicle descended slowly,until everything became clear,returning to reality,the concrete sidewalk,the buildings and the people.  
He hurried to grab his carry-on luggage,walking out of the plane,the frigid air lashed against his face as soon as his feet touched the airport floor,however,he didn't think much of it,approaching the checkpoint,showing his passport and IDs,then approaching the belt that turned over and over in a cycle,there was the rest of his belongings,clothes and so on.  
He took the first cab he saw crossing the street, then got in to tell the driver where he was going.  
The anxiety was present, again, it was a mixture of emotions in his stomach, until they arrived at the big building.  
The receptionist greeted him with a friendly smile,as he signed the documents,someone from the staff took him to the room where he was going to stay,sliding the card and opening the door,leaving his luggage on the floor.

[...] I hope i'm what you always thought of me.


	3. 𝗔 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗲𝘆𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴

Brighton, January 9th.  
  
It was the moment of truth, where they would both be in the room,breathing the same medicine-scented air,and floor varnish.  
His hands were sweating for a moment,so sometimes he would run them against his clothes,having already settled in the hotel,he went back out,with his determination high but chills ran down his spine.

[...]So many days, so many nights, imagining you right next to me, it's no longer a fantasy.

After a few minutes, the cab pulled up in front of the hospital, quite a few people were coming in and out, the doors were opening again and again, different conversations flooding the whole sidewalk, but they had one thing in common, all with that English accent he had become so used to now.  
Unhurriedly, he approached the reception desk, where, after giving the details of the person he would be visiting, he was let in minutes later.  
He could feel his heartbeat increase as he walked down that long white corridor, until he stopped at that birch wood door, with the number "404" inscribed there, putting his hand on the handle of the door, thinking for a moment whether to turn it or not.

[...] I would have liked the situation to be different.

As he stood there alone, as rigid as stone, the people passing behind him looked at him strangely, so without further ado, the door opened.

[...]

The morning had been cold, as usual, even much earlier it had rained, and the drops splashed against the windows, those little details now meant a lot to him, they made him feel like a normal person.  
He was depressed, even if a week was not a long time, knowing that he was slowly losing mobility in his limbs was not very encouraging.  
Time was passing slowly, he could feel it when he looked at the clock on the wall, he even thought about taking a nap, he had no mood at all, his body was still, and he could only look at the floor.  
But, suddenly, someone opened the door, he could hear the "clack" of the doorknob, so he made himself uncomfortable again to sit on the bed, when he looked up, he was shocked.

-Clay, is that... you?" The brown-haired man froze, his expression had literally changed immediately to one of utter surprise.

-Hello, Georgenotfound, did you think I would leave you alone in this?

[...] _Clay, how could I begin, he, always with a smile on his face, with his sarcasm and his jokes, mostly bad, his blond hair and his green eyes, his irony and his irreverence at the same time, was now in front of him, physically, when no one else in the world had seen him or could really know him, he was there, standing there, as if it was a casual visit, so natural, so authentic._


	4. 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲?

Brighton, January 9th.

The words did not come out of his mouth, only a few babbles could be heard, for the brown-haired man it was like an utopian moment what was happening now, right in front of his eyes.  
His fantasy idealization was interrupted by the left hand of his opponent, he moved it up and down, a few centimeters away from his face, so he just blinked.

—George?—the taller one asked only facetiously, as he sat down on the far end of the stretcher.

—Ah,me,just,I can't believe you're here....—  
He couldn't hide what he felt, he always paid attention to details, the blond through that screen, when they were so far away, even without having to tell him openly, he looked up the street where the hospital was located.

—However, you didn't have to do that, it's not the best time for us to get to know each other.—

The last he said with a hint of melancholy on his lips, he always imagined that his first physical encounter would be something memorable, but instead, he was tied to a disease, a room possibly permanently in the medical compound and with the person who just stole his breath, he had even withdrawn his gaze, now it was lost in the emptiness of the four walls.

[...] _Clay knew in advance how pessimistic he could be colorblind in this kind of situations, also that he was not constant, he would say a thousand things and then he could not say half a word, he did not show too much but could hide little, what he liked and what he disliked equally._  
 _It wouldn't end soon if he was given the chance to say; who George is,if he knew all these details about himself,then what were they really._

—Don't mention it, Florida doesn't need me there, I guess this is where I belong no matter how much.—

His voice always conveyed confidence, and this time was no exception, he said it as if it was a daily routine, as if leaving the life he was used to was not important.

—This will take time, Clay, it's not just like a summer break, I feel like I won't be leaving here for a long time,—he said, thinking, "Would he wait that long?, their 'friendship' wasn't enough reason for such madness."

—Then I'll start calling your apartment my new home.— The green-eyed man's unmistakable sense of humor was not to be missed, he could only laugh.

—And who says you can stay there?—George had a raised eyebrow, while he returned his gaze to the green hoodie's face.

—This key, I already have it, it's mine.—In a quick maneuver, he took the bunch of keys that were inside the man's belongings, putting them in his pocket.

—You're such an idiot—What else could he do?, he did everything for him, it was the least he could do, as if no one else existed.

[...] What if it was always just the two of us?, like the sky and the sea.


End file.
